


Óminni

by CreamcheeseBagel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Amnesiac Loki (Marvel), Face Punching, Human Loki (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injured Loki, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Steve Rogers Feels, Suicidal Thoughts, amnesia loki, and why has he dyed his hair blonde?, loki really doesnt like looking in mirrors, takes place somewhere around the end of civil war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-03 14:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14571045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreamcheeseBagel/pseuds/CreamcheeseBagel
Summary: There's a Godling masquerading as human they say, he who chases freedom whilst death snaps at his heels. He who fell from the sky and must be punished for his second-coming.





	1. Chapter 1

The bus rolled lazily down the near empty road, with most of the occupants drearily watching the rain lash against the grimy windows. One of the passengers, nestled against the window pane behind the driver, was unclear of the destination as their green eyes wandered amongst the blurred pine trees. They’d decided that morning to ride the bus until they felt sure they could leave. Silently they raised a bruised hand to brush the dry blonde hair from their face before shifting further into the seat.  
They sat alone, a large backpack dominating the seat beside them. The man tucked his chin to his chest as he listened to the chatter of a radio, the talk of murder, of cults and worshipping and investigations that unsettled him further. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself.

But it wasn’t him, lost in his thoughts, that saw the red split the sky. His eyes had slowly closed when the bus suddenly lurched, throwing him forwards in the seat. His eyes snapped open as his forehead bounced off the seat ahead. People began to scream. He too heard his muffled yelp amongst the tide. Glass peppered the passengers as the windows imploded inwards, wind momentarily stealing their voices as it raced in. The wheels screeched and the driver head-butted the steering wheel before going limp, his body dangling from his perch.  
Red illuminated the vehicle, washing over the interior, frightened eyes bounced from the glare to the concrete. The bus was rolling, groaning and churning. It flipped, bodies left their seats in tangled limbs. An armrest punched the blonde man in the cheek as he too left his seat. He almost believed, in that moment, that he was slowly floating amongst the rolling debris, a sensation of falling that rolled up from his toes.  
His backpack was too far away, his right hand a claw of twisted fingers that strained after it. Crimson punctuated his eyelids, crept through up his arm and stabbed at his chest. His mind was screaming against the pain in his right arm, his fingers twitching. He blinked, once, twice. The bodies folded, reached, contorted around him. He closed his eyes against the second wave of heat that rippled through each of them. With a sigh of twisted metal, the bus stopped, dragged to a squealing stop up the road before it collapsed on its side. There was a small window of nausea amongst the pain.  
The traveller himself was outside of the bus, thrown in a heap metres away from the flickering wreck, the heat prickling amongst the searing rain. His right eye was pushed amongst the gravel, his left hazy as it flicked back and forth from his eyelid to the rolling tire.  
A soft voice rolled among his head, whispering sweet nothings his mind could not grasp. The words fluttered against his skull, tapping lightly, emanating a warmth he quietly accepted to be his death. But the nausea anchored him, the unshed pills plinking in his empty stomach. He was rising to his knees unknowingly, his body alight with the hum of the voice. A blanket of comfort that seeped deep into his one mangled arm, demanding that he stay lying on the roadside. He didn’t know why, but his body was urging him onwards against the voice, the tendons within his crushed arm numb to the droplets plinking upon them.  
The man couldn’t dare take in the damage, he knew he had lost his arm by how it flopped as he limped towards the carnage, the skin tugging downwards, sliding in the socket. The crimson was everywhere now, it raced amongst the storm clouds, it swallowed the bus, righting it almost gently before his eyes. He watched silently as armoured bodies dashed past the scene, knees high. He duly noted amongst his confusion that people were fighting, guns cocked. He needed to leave, he knew that much. Something clattered, breaking the spell. Green eyes widened in fear. A warped gun skidded against his feet before bouncing away. He turned back then, to face a very well sculpted man bounding towards him.  
The man running before him was also blonde, naturally so. His chiselled jaw bruised, his blue eyes concerned.

‘Sir? I’m here to help’ the voice punctuated the fear, increasing it tenfold, the traveller shamefully felt a drop of heat stick to his boxers. ‘Hydra- civilians- leave’. He stepped backwards before he really did lose his bladder, the newcomers’ words coming in confused bouts. Something akin to a pop sounded. A burst of crimson light swallowed the pair, a crumpled bullet plinked at their feet.

‘Steve!’ a shrill voice sounded amongst more _pops._ But the man before the traveller remained still, his honest eyes growing dark. The woman’s voice grew desperate. It was then that the traveller knew his brief glimpse of freedom was dashed. In that split second he felt he should know the man before him, understand why his face could contort in such an ugly manner.  
Was he one of them? Had they tracked the bloody footprints? Did they find the corpse, its neck jerked violently until it snapped?  
The traveller wholeheartedly lost his bladder when Steve Roger’s hands snatched at his tattered arm, yanking it towards him with a brutal twist. A bloodied hand punched him squarely in the face, pushing his face upwards into the rain. They slipped in the urine, a disgusted grunt swimming in his ears. A second blow had him chasing his feet, his socks hot. He screwed his eyes up to the third, the fourth, choking on the copper. His jaw lulled, bobbing. He closed his eye to the beating, closed his mind to his second death, wishing the storm would swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find many Amnesia-Loki fics, so I bit the bullet and decided to write my own. 
> 
> I'd love to hear any suggestions on what you would want to see in the story!


	2. Chapter 2

_He’d just wanted to escape. To run as far as he could, as far as the stolen money would take him. If anything he had earned the money, or at least that’s what the voices had shouted as the hands pawed. The creaky bus and uninterested passengers had offered him a wild slice of freedom he had never realised he had needed or deserved. For over a year he had mindlessly lived with and beneath those who had found him unconscious. Within the wilderness of a city, whose name he had never learned, he had been beaten and spat on, at times worshipped and praised. Ordinary bodies with ordinary faces became one as they taught him, fed him, and kept him alive. Some would bolster him, enviously asking for knowledge he couldn’t find, some would cry and scream and curse._   
_He knew he was truly alive when he first began to steal from them, the rush of excitement at the notes he harboured, both stolen and earned. As the money grew, he began to steal trinkets from the houses he was chaperoned into. A silver ring here, a sharpened blade there. He understood they knew him when they first broke his ribs and drew his blood and screamed at him for not being who they wanted him to be._   
_He could still feel the water in his bones, slouching over the rim of the tub, thick and scarlet. His fingers numb beneath the cooling water, the skin of his wrists peeling open to gulp and purge. The blood expelling in flourishes._

The traveller began to stir from the pull of unconsciousness, it clung to him heavily but something wasn’t allowing his heavy limbs to succumb. A small flutter of red behind his eyelids kept tugging and tugging. He felt as though he was rising from a deep slumber, fighting against the dreams and pillows that enticed him to stay. But the red grew stronger, stabbing at this eyelids until he had to open them against that pain. If he opened his eyes, it would all just go away.

He slowly worked his left eye open, it fell occasionally against the pounding in his skull but one eye was better than none. A film of blurriness covered his open eye, distorting the room around him as he unpeeled his clumped lashes. He heard a door hastily slam but from what direction he could not tell and it was too dark to even attempt to find it.  
His body ached dully as he lay on his back on what he felt to be wooden flooring. Nothing to cover him or comfort his back, just worn oak boards he knew would creak if he moved. He pushed down a trickle of fear and took stock of his left arm, craning his neck to watch it rise and fall against his chest. It looked almost immaculate save for an odd scratch here or there, his right lay heavy beside him and he was silently thankful his right eye wouldn’t open to show him the damage. He could feel the heat of his skin knitting itself, weaving with a scratching he couldn’t itch.  
But his body merely ached. He couldn’t not feel his arm and he refused to fixate on this as his breathing grew quicker. The traveller lurched upwards to sit, expecting to come to terms with the darkened room around him. Expect he retched as he rose in the unfamiliar room, a band he couldn’t see constricting his throat, keeping him centimetres from the wall and forcing him to crouch awkwardly. How he hadn’t asphyxiated himself in his sleep he didn’t know. It was then that the panic bubbled in his chest, his left hand scratching at the binding but it wouldn’t budge and only crackled louder with each attempt. They’d never done this to him before. The crackling itself was setting his heart pounding faster, the abrupt loudness of it too much amongst the silence. His hand fell away as a door before him cracked open, light spilling in, forcing him to turn his face away. A light scent of a hearty soup teased his empty stomach. He blinked stupidly at the door, squinting his one eye at the slight figure watching him.

‘I-‘ his cracked lips peeled apart, his throat constricted and sore. He licked them, pulling deep inside himself for a slither of pride to aid his voice. ‘I-I didn’t-run away I-swear’ he croaked, pride and voice failing him. A woman tutted in the doorway, her disgust voiced as she turned away, the light leaving with her.

‘No wait!’ the traveller screamed, painfully pulling at his dry lips. He desperately tried to reach forwards, pull towards the woman and beg for forgiveness. He retched loudly, repeating himself against the strain, ‘No-wait!’

The light vanished and he closed his eyes to the panicked tears. A slither of guilt trickled into his stomach as he caught himself wishing he had remained in that rusted tub, floating listlessly, those heavy hands curling his fingers around the blade.  
He’d drifted in and out of sleep as he crouched there against the wood panelled wall, the smell of oak and the trapped aroma of food lulling him. He went gratefully. Time was hard to decipher so he put more effort into spending it unconscious than trying to work out the hazy outlines of the room. He knew it was a house he’d never been in before, that much was certain. He knew his clothes were new, loose and clean, his arm uselessly bandaged.  
Hours or days could have passed by the time the door swung open. It clattered off the wall. The man was awake and alert in seconds, his body pressed to the wall, his knees numb. A small click illuminated the room. He winced loudly, shielding his eye with his mobile hand.

‘So you do kneel’ came a deep voice, it was indifferent and direct and the pointed words spoke of a joke he wasn’t fully informed of. ‘Loki, look at me’.

The traveller jarred against the wall. The name tightening in his chest. He lowered his arm, confused.  He’d been called that name before, almost whispered lovingly a few years ago. _Low-key. Low-key. Loki._  But that wasn’t the name they had _given_ him. They had branded it into his skull. It felt right on his tongue and wrong on his face, disgusting.

‘I don’t have time for this’ the man snapped, the air growing tense. The traveller-Loki, raised his face to stare at the outline of a man. Steve Rogers stood before him in the gloom, dressed informally now, arms crossed. ‘Where is Thor?’

Another name that fell heavily in his stomach. Loki gulped against the restraint and shook his head. ‘I-I don’t know wha-t you want with me’. The air was electric then. They’d never asked him this. Steve barrelled into the room and all but dove on his prisoner. The pair collided with a crackle of the restraint. Loki’s head knocked against the wall, driving his teeth into his tongue. He swallowed the blood quickly. Steve’s fingers clamped against his jaw as his left hand pinned Loki’s own, he felt the bones in his wrist grind. Blue eyes bore into him from above, the hand on his jaw snapping his head this way and that, examining him roughly.

‘If you have to make me repeat myself, I _will_ do this the hard way’

Loki squirmed against the weight, his chest aching in fear. ‘I-I’, his panic was closing his throat around the words. He was so confused. ‘I-I don’t know what you mean’ he hissed, a stab of annoyance seeping through. They had already asked him what they had wanted to know. They had watched him pour over news clips, their eyes seeking hungrily.

‘Wrong answer’ Steve growled, raising a fist now. Loki’s mind raced over the words but nothing was falling into place, no word or location was jumping out.

‘Wait!’ he screamed instead, desperation etched upon his face. ‘I-I don’t know who you mean! I can be useful though!’ Loki continued, moving his hips upwards robotically, if he couldn’t answer the man he would placate him. ‘I can be good’.

Steve’s fist fell upon Loki’s mouth, palm down, gagging him. Loki huffed loudly, his body rigid as he searched Steve Roger’s face for something, anything but anger. The man opened his mouth to say something but closed it, sighing heavily himself. A light had died in his eyes. Loki blinked slowly, submitting to both the confusion and the stranger he recognised as put him here.

‘Listen slowly’ Steve started instead, continuing when Loki nodded stiffly beneath him. ‘I am going to release the binding-‘ Loki frowned- ‘and you are going to walk out of that door and do everything I say, do you understand?’ Loki nodded, he could understand this. ‘Okay’.  
Steve clambered off effortlessly, his hand snaking around Loki’s throat to tug the chain free but the collar remained. Loki took his direction and climbed unsteadily to his feet, the room was empty except for the door he now limped towards. Steve’s heavy hand guiding him. They left the brightly lit room to a duller lit room, an overly furnished lounge with sagging leather sofas and oak tables covered with books. The décor was unfamiliar, cluttered and homely in comparison to his usual abodes. Maybe this way a new member, he reasoned as he was made to kneel before a dead fireplace. An oak coffee table separated him from the stranger who loomed over him. He knew the man as the soldier from the crash, an angry man. Only soldiers could hunch so far. He couldn’t decipher why a soldier would be a member, but he must-

‘Why is your hair blonde?’

The question surprised Loki, he looked up and tilted his head, unsure what line of questioning this was to be. He licked his lips with a coppery tongue.

‘I-didn’t like the black,’ he admitted, his cheeks growing warm. ‘Something about the colour just felt right’. Steve made a noise of acknowledgement, something about his stare felt calculated, clued in almost.‘But-I can change it back if you like’ he backtracked. If this new member had caught him, he had to play things safely.

‘Where have you been recently?’

Loki gripped his left knee tighter and shrugged, a small smile on his lips. ‘Honestly, I have been working’ he said, licking his lips. Unsure how to work the man. ‘I uh, was asked to go out for- food- and got lost!’

Steve parked himself on the coffee table then, directly before his prisoner. He planted his feet and spread his legs, his back straight. Loki looked up nervously, not quite sure where to look. He settled on the man’s left bicep. Steve scratched his beard idly.

‘Okay, I’m never the best at reading people like _you_. But I damn well know you’re lying! You should be in spa-’

Loki rocked back on his heels before springing upwards, he screamed against the onslaught of pain, his fingers burning as he forced a fist. The fist arched with the momentum of his body, clipping Steve in the neck. Loki collapsed sideways with the effort, watching the stranger through the hair plastered to his face.  
‘I have nothing to give!’ Loki screamed in earnest from his hands and knees. ‘I-I can’t give you the answers you seek’ he cried, his throat raw, ‘you’ve asked me everything I know!’. The sadness exploded within his chest, washing over him. _His wet hair unfurled around his ears_. The confusion and self-doubt urging on his laboured movements as something pushed at his mind. ‘Something tells me-I deserve to die. That I deserve _this_. But-they must have informed you of everything I have said’ he croaked, crumpling onto his left side, away from the man. His head ached. ‘You’re new, I know that. I haven’t seen you before-‘

‘Loki’ Steve said from the table, knowing not to move himself. ‘I, I’m not sure what has happened since we last met. But, I believe you when you say you don’t know who I am’. Steve looked down upon his dishevelled prisoner, his own confusion heavy in his stomach. He couldn’t place the man on the floor to the murderous God slashing at him.

Loki rolled onto his back, throwing his left arm to cover his eyes, ‘who are you?’

‘Ca-Steve Rogers’

‘Steve-Rogers’ Loki whispered, mulling the name over. ‘If you haven’t taken me to claim me, why am I here?’ _Must I die again?_

Steve clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding. ‘I would never-‘ he sighed deeply, raking a hand down his face, pushing Bucky from his mind. ‘I do know you, but I certainly don’t believe you deserve what I think you’re insinuating, or saying’ Steve sagged slightly, watching Loki’s body untense slowly. ‘I do need you to stand up and come with me though’.

Loki brushed his hand away, searching upwards into Steve’s face. The man looked earnest, his stare hard but the blue soft. Tiny crow’s feet stamped at the corners. Loki looked ill, he knew. The sunken eyes and skin too taut, yellowed. His tongue ran over his teeth, the taste of the pills he hadn’t expelled sunk into his wisdom teeth.

‘We need to get some meat on your bones’ Steve said, the crow feet tiptoeing onto his face. He extended a cautious hand, expecting a nip. Steve swallowed his mixed feelings as fingers little more than the bones beneath slipped into his palm, green eyes flashing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tweaked both chapters at last!


	3. Chapter 3

‘Eat’ Steve said, taking a seat before his new house guest. Loki eyed the buttered toast as though it had personally insulted him, with his left hand he prodded the plate away. Steve pushed the plate back, ignoring it when it reappeared moments later.

‘I’m not hungry’ Loki replied with a roll of the eyes, crossing one arm over his chest. He tilted his chin loftily, feigning confidence he’d lost months ago. ‘I would however appreciate my arm not resting on my toes’. Steve bristled, feeling the man already burrowing beneath his skin. Give the man an inch and he would certainly take the mile and run.

‘I’m more than happy to carry you back to your room’ Steve continued, taking a slice of toast for himself. He knew Loki was feeling cornered, his sarcastic quips growing as he tried to work out Steve. ‘Now I told you to eat, so I shouldn’t be eating this all to myself.’  
He pushed the plate back, eyeing the God’s sickly frame. He knew the man had once been lean and muscular with a mean right hook. But this was a shadow sitting ill with sallow cheeks and wrists he could grind to dust. Steve felt guilty for giving Loki a black eye.

Loki begrudgingly swiped a slice, taking a bite from the edge before tossing it back. He suppressed a shudder as he swallowed, his stomach aching against the sudden intrusion. He sat in an oversized jumper and jogging bottoms, Steve’s own, just waiting for the punchline. Minutes after he had screamed and cried from the floor, Steve had placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and helped him to stand, leading him through the house and into the kitchen they currently sat. The man had opened a cupboard and pulled out a loaf of bread, offering jars of spread.   
Clean clothes, eating, small talk; all were mere pleasantries he couldn’t afford. He should be jumping through hoops, begging the man to stop beating him. The fact that he was asked to sit and prodded to eat astounded him. This, this was too foreign to comprehend. Beneath the table, he gripped his right arm and squeezed until the pressure was too much, too real. It was grounding to know he was alive and that his arm was slowly healing. The appendage felt like electric, as though a static buzzing hummed up and down the length beneath the skin. But the man called Steve before him was an enigma, he could feel the dislike and distrust radiating from him, could see the pity in his eyes as though he’d found an ugly stray. A small part of Loki wondered what shape his eyes would take when he found that his cat had claws. He wanted to press his thumbs into his sockets.

A pulsating hum rippled through the air and a distant lock clicked, pulling Steve’s attention the open doorway. Loki’s fingers found his injured arm again, he pushed his fingertips up the sleeve and stabbed them into the bandaged flesh, ignoring the tightness in his chest. Footsteps had Steve standing to hug a slight woman, her brown hair tickling his shoulder.  
Her blue eyes narrowed over his shoulder, pinning Loki to his seat. ‘Steve’ she warned, her accented words clipped. ‘We had agreed’.  
Loki stood slowly, tucking his right arm behind him, he smiled thinly. It wasn’t returned. Wanda sidestepped Steve, her fingers thrumming as she closed the distance. Loki’s left foot slipped backwards, his back hunching slightly. He balanced, ready to pounce.  
‘Muscle memory’ she mused, rolling her wrists. With a fizz Loki felt the pressure leave his throat, he gingerly prodded the space where the collar had been. His skin felt unnatural once again. ‘I was right, there’s no signature. It looks like him, but no one’s home’ she continually, her eyes roaming Loki almost hungrily, a thirst but no real appetite. Steve made a noise of agreement as he moved to lean against the fridge. Wanda took a seat on a counter top, her eyes directing Loki to sit at the table. He silently obeyed.

‘Your arm will be healed by the end of the week,’ she announced, breaking the silence. ‘do you know you have super human healing?’

‘Wanda!’ Steve interjected firmly, casting Loki a quick glance. ‘We have to do this carefully’

‘Carefully!’ she scoffed, her eyes flashing. ‘Just because he’s docile now doesn’t mean _I_ can forget what he did. If it hadn’t been for those Hydra agents he’d be on his way to-‘

‘We’re not forgiving _him_ , or forgetting. Believe me. But right now, we need to understand how and why he’s here’

Loki followed the heated conversation the best he could. He had known he had advanced healing capabilities the week Marcus had inverted his knee cap and applauded him for walking the following day. They had told him he was different, other worldly as they had fisted his raven locks and dragged him through the houses. They had whispered about New York and men in metal suits. He hadn’t then known he’d been taken in by a band of savages disguised as humans. He hadn’t felt like a God or a Godling, but a bug with its wings plucked.

‘I’m not sure who you refer to’ Loki cut in, sitting straighter as both sets of eyes locked on him. ‘You told me to be honest, and I am’ he met Steve’s eyes earnestly. Did he truly fit in to New York? _The flash of armour and sneers felt hollow as his unsteady hands traced his reflection, the mirrored image sharp and brittle. There was nothing in his voice that could command. Mock and cut, yes, but maim and pull apart, no._

‘I know you don’t’ Wanda sighed, ‘and that’s the hard part. You don’t even know who you are’.

Loki frowned. He knew from the moment he had opened his eyes in that pit that something was missing, far beyond his memory. ‘Can-is there a way to prove to you that I’m telling the truth?’

‘There is’

‘Wanda’ Steve repeated firmly, moving to place his hand upon her shoulder. ‘You have a choice. You don’t have to do this, if _you_ don’t want to. I don’t know what you’ll find’, he gave her a reassuring squeeze. ‘We don’t even know if this is a trap’.

Loki balked at the sudden turn, lost to their meaning of a trap. He was being as honest as he could. Wanda leaned into the warm grip, smiling up at her friend. ‘The more reason I _have_ to know. I’m not going to allow him to harm anyone, especially you and Vis’.  
‘You’re stronger that you realise, but-‘  
‘Steve’ Wanda interrupted, moving away. ‘I need you to trust that I can do this. I’ll be okay, I promise’ her smile faded. ‘We can’t move safe house until we know what we’re dealing with and times running out. So if that means rooting around in the head of an unhinged God- then that’s what I’m damn well going to do!’

Loki swallowed the lump in his throat, his palm sweaty against his knee. He wasn’t a God, was he? Wanda stepped towards him, explaining that she could delve into his mind with _magic_. That this was something he had possessed, that she could help understand. He submitted and closed his eyes as Wanda’s slender fingers gently probed his forehead to settle above his ears.

‘How long have I been _here_?’ Loki breathed.

‘A day’ Wanda replied matter of factly. ‘But time is crucial. I-I can’t willingly have you here if I don’t know what I’m up against, or who’

There was no place to reject the suddenness of his situation, to explore his own questions. He’d never believed Marcus when he blindly rambled about magic and blue lightning, of horned men and devils. Not until he had watched the moving images with nails curled into his palms. But he nodded gently, Wanda’s fingertips glued to his skin.

 _Something crackled behind his eyelids. He was free falling amongst the red, his hands fingers brushing the fabric that fluttered around him. He couldn’t name it but he knew it was beautiful. He strode towards the flowing fabric as it began to circle before him, he moved to snatch it, to hold it. The red shattered into an array of prismatic shapes, into colours that couldn’t possibly exist. Loki gasped, throwing his hands to his face to protect him from the confusion. The light seeped through his fingers, blinding, painful. He tumbled backwards, falling, somersaulting over himself. He was freefalling amongst a void his eyes couldn’t penetrate. His hands desperately sought purchase, his mouth agape to the penetrating silence._  
_A scream pierced the nothingness so sharply he thought it might just eat him whole. The noise rolled over him in waves. Wanda blinked into existence before him, her hands encasing his skull as he stared into her into her open maw. Her body shuddered violently, her jaw unhinged._  
_Wanda was also falling, her anchor to the unknown dull before her. Loki’s body was quiet and bland, he withered beneath her fingers, his body melting into her. His body became nothing. Hues of blue and green punched Wanda deeper, each strike ripping another scream from her body._  
_Is this death? Her thoughts flowed around her, blinking in and out. A warmth unlike anything she had ever known enveloped her, coddling her tightly. No, my child a soft voice breathed against her ear. Her mouth closed slowly as her body glowed with affection, her throat felt free and calm. Her mind felt soothed as she lulled within the voice. That beautiful, comforting voice. With each spell you breathe, you shall have your sun, the voice promised. With each life, I shall love you more until the universe is no more._  
_The agony wrenched at Wanda’s chest. She openly wept for the fading comfort, she yearned for the light rolling from her veins._  
_White hot rage engulfed her, licking at her mind. Her brain was sloshing amongst the jealously, like an egg it was cracking, peeling away, spitting out the poisoned yoke. Blood dribbled from her ears, her nose, her mouth. Trembling hands elongated, growing wider, the knuckles thicker, paler. Her hands were not her own, but Loki’s. Those long fingers curling into claws to choke her, suffocate him. Whose eyes were heavy to the blue tinged scenes swimming before them? Whose back felt hunched with shame?_  
_The hands were raking at her chest, prising open the skin, pulling and tugging. A single green flame flickered before her, cupped in those same hands. The green swayed, the edges dipped in a golden glow. If only she could touch it. Suddenly the hands snatched the flame away, palms slamming together in a thunderclap that shook her to her core._


	4. Chapter 4

Loki blinked slowly, both eyelids rising as though weighted. His head lolled sideways into softness, heavy as though he had drunk too much too quickly. As he closed his eyes crackles of tingling moved upwards from his fingertips, he carefully flexed both hands but the feeling remained. His eyes rolled lazily, taking in the plain ceiling above him, the minimalistic décor, and the high arching windows that bore sunlight upon him. The sun draped over him, washing his body with heat he leaned into. He groaned into the pillow, staring at his artificial blonde locks, searching his body for any ebbs of pain or discomfort. He felt none, even his bandaged arm felt mobile and light.  
Loki held his right arm aloft, tugging away the bandages to expose the mottled flesh beneath. Mere splashes of purple and greens remained. He lowered it and began to pick at the skin, the fingernails of his left hand pulling and pinching at the bruises, deepening them.

He dropped his arms when the sadness pricked behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw shut, sluggishly hauling himself from the generous double bed. Duvet and blankets draped after him like capes, pooling at his feet. Loki swayed on two feet, his mind heavy yet lighter than usual, he couldn’t explain the feeling. His memories were still a mystery but he felt as though some sort of realisation had fallen into place, not quite a smooth fit but it had wiggled into place and stayed. He knew he had felt a white hot rage, conflicting things, like a sadness that rotted his brain and conversed with a torrent of love he had felt. The love had been tenfold and direct, pinpointed to somehow taller than himself. He had loved strongly and jealously, possessively and desperately. Eager to please and quick to scorn. It comforted him to know that he had once loved, maybe even been loved.  
But he knew that love was tainted with a hatred for himself, a burning shame he associated with a cold dread. Yet he couldn’t quite place that either. If his mind were a landscape it would be a desert; a painful, blistering mountainous terrain. To walk upon one bank would see it crumbling, to catch the grains and have them seep through your fingers in a gush.

The past day, or possibly even two or three now, had been an array of disorienting speed. From his wet feet slapping rouge footprints that spoke of his escape to mentally urging the bus driver to hurry, just to fall back into captivity. _Almost as easy as it had felt to turn those taps and watching the water bring the searing heat._ How many days had he been here truly? In this bondage that felt like fate?  
He wiggled his toes into the plush cream carpet, anchoring himself to the fact that he was awake and freely standing. Loki shuffled to the door, expecting his heart to sink, and opened it effortlessly. He slammed his right arm against the door frame then, cracking the bone of his wrist, he ground his teeth in pain and pushed on towards the stairs.  
A faint aroma of what he thought was plum greeted him. The sudden smell twisted his stomach. He lurched forwards, embarrassed, a hand clasped to his lips. He retched, back heaving, his empty stomach forcing bile into his hand. Hot liquid sloshed into his palm and he flicked it away from his face, spraying the stairs. Loki’s eyes went wide at the mess, his cheeks flaming red. The cream carpet that met wooden floorboards was now decorated with yellow, he picked up a few slimy pills as he descended, grinding the slimy half dissolved things between his palms.

He descended the stairs slowly and quietly. An unguarded front door stood directly before him, in the middle of the hallway, the staircase leading him to the left of this. Loki looked at it dejectedly, his eyes catching Steve’s.  
Steve stood stock still in the closest doorway, his body tensed to move. Loki blinked slowly at him.

‘I’ve been sick in the hallway upstairs’ he croaked, Steve’s eyebrows furrowing. ‘It may have been that lack lustre toast’

Steve smiled thinly then, his shoulders relaxing a fraction of an inch. ‘I’ll have that sorted’ he gestured for Loki to follow him into the lounge he’d first encountered. His bare feet slapped against the floorboards. Steve sunk into an armchair and Loki followed suite, perched on the edge.

‘This all happened very quickly’ Steve said and Loki nodded in agreement. ‘To be honest, we didn’t think we’d run into you whilst- well, on the run. Did you sleep well?’.

Loki remained silent.

‘I’m not sure what to do with you. You’re a being from space with no memory’ Steve scratched at his beard. ‘Quite frankly, we can only assume Hydra didn’t pick you up because someone got there first, and they wouldn’t be sharing that information with us anymore. Wait do you even remember that you’re from space?’.

Loki hummed, not knowing the truth behind the questions directly but understanding the gist of it. ‘I know I did _this_ ’. He tapped his head, unnaturally cool about his heritage. 

‘Wanda believes so, yes’

‘I know I hurt someone I loved deeply’ Loki admitted, balling his hands. ‘But I think I also did a lot worse than that. It’s- I was told- I don’t know’. He heaved a sigh. The intrusion into his mind was a distant memory teetering on the boundaries of his mind that had grown into an expanse he couldn’t yet explore.

Steve shuffled in his seat, unsure of how much to say. ‘Wanda and I need to leave this house tonight. We’re going to take you with us, we need to get to Tony. In your current state, it’s not safe for you and- well really, I can’t leave you on your own’. Steve stared at the impassive amnesiac God balanced before him, thin enough a breeze could blow him away. He didn’t like the idea of bringing an unhinged alien along with him, worried he’d rediscover himself and worried he wouldn’t. Scared for Wanda who had hovered by the man’s beside, her glowing hands searching for an ebb of magic. Her face twisted oddly as she declared that she couldn’t reach it.

‘Would you like to shower? I can show you back to your room and you can get cleaned up. You’re looking even more peaky today’

Loki nodded quietly, not quite there with Steve in the room whose voice continued on; explaining who he and Wanda were, the infighting between superheroes who strove to do better, be better. His monologue followed them back up the stairs, promising him Tony would understand, a firm hand guiding Loki, it finally stopped when Steve pulled the en-suite door shut leaving Loki to blink himself back into the cream bathroom.  
He’d done this before, lost time. Closing his mind and going with the motions. He stood stock still, wide eyed at the man owlishly studying him from the wall.  
The reflection held an otherworldly look as Loki poked the mirror that hung as a dominating circle, enticing him to pick apart the monster. He opened his mouth wide, poking his tongue out. Pulling at the purple smudges beneath his eyes, his right eye now a half open slit. It was as though he had rotted in that tub, his skin melting into his body instead of bloating, leaving a yellowed husk in its place. He raised his hand to the light, his tendons like little mountains protruding from his hands. Green eyes bore into his own through the splayed fingers, gleaming wickedly beneath dark lashes. Loki reeled backwards, ripping the blonde hair into his eyes, heavily panting against the newly fashioned fringe. The greasy hair moved and slapped against his face with each tremendous breath. He willed it away, begged the reflection to leave but it remained, watching him.

‘The man I was before' Loki searched, his eyes darting across the image. 'If you were in my situation- what would you have done?’ he spoke to himself, unsure of himself even.

His reflections lips pulled taut, compressed before unpeeling into a wide cracked smile. He withered from it as it peeked out at him. ‘ _I would have_ slaughtered _you_ ’


	5. Chapter 5

_The hot water lapped against his ribs, leaving reddened skin as it sloshed against his throat. Steam enveloped the small grimy room, forcing him to sweat into the rising water. The heavy handed man knelt beside the tub easing Loki further into the water until only his face remained above the rising water level. He took his right arm then, clamped it hard against the base of the tub. Loki gasped against the unbridled pain tearing open his arm, from wrist to elbow crook the man sawed. Loki convulsed, his left arm thrashing wildly, his right spitting warmth into the bath that swirled and rose as coppery pangs. His arm was ablaze with pain, hot lancing pain. A fist punched him beneath the water, his head knocked against the base before he shot above the water gasping, choking. Slick fingers snapped against Loki’s throat, slamming him beneath the water. His eyes burned beneath the sea of red, his mouth filling with it. The skin of his arm flapped open like wings, expelling blood, gulping in boiling water. He burst upwards in a torrent of fear that sent water cascading over the rim, he drove his face into the man’s own, breaking both their noses amidst cracks of cartilage. The hand released him. Loki inhaled sharply, the weight on his chest bolstering the nausea. He clambered from the tub, sticky and raw, his arm gushing as he slipped. The back of his head clacked against the tile with a jarring thud. The man was upon him, snarling and spitting, his hands around Loki’s throat, his nose bleeding freely into Loki’s open maw.  
The edges of his vision were growing dark and murky. He sunk into the tiles, his hands numb and open. Loki could feel the familiar tug of death encasing him. His fear and panic bled into the void. A wet click sounded behind his eyes, as though someone had sucked their teeth in disapproval. Loki’s bloodshot eyes flew open. His face swung upwards, ensnaring the man’s head within his palms, he dug his nails into the flesh and smiled into the mans twisted face. He jerked the humans head savagely, grinding it into the neck, twisting it until he could no longer see the man’s face._

Loki gasped, wrenching his face against his reflection, panting heavily against the startled mimicry. The savage smile had gone, blinked away. He stared into his image, fearful it would collapse into and scowl and threaten him again. It felt as though his mind were rotting within the memories that haunted him. He staggered away from his image, his right arm throbbing. He’d seen that face before, shivered in that confident inflection. He had watched that very face terrorise people in the moving pictures, sneer as it strode down war-torn streets with arms wide, blue eyes wicked.  
His heart sunk as he realised they had been right, he was the monster who had gleefully torn through New York, eyes as blue as the weapon he had wielded. But his eyes were green, he knew this. They had experimented upon them, seeking that very same blue his former self had gazed out with. But the colour had never changed. He had dyed his hair after the murder, stumbled naked through the house, stealing clothes and a backpack, stashing it with food. As he had torn his way through the kitchen he had found a box of hair dye and ripped into the out of date box with his teeth. His scalp had burned as much as his flesh that had patiently began stitching itself. He never wanted to look like that looming figure ever again. The new hair was golden and bright, a halo framing his face. But he felt like the devil as he left the corpse and fled for transport, securing himself a five day journey away from the cult who had claimed him.

Steve Rogers face clicked into place. His fear had been towards the soldier he had once punched across the street. Loki collapsed to his knees. He truly was the God from the moving images, but his mind couldn’t comprehend himself to the image. He had no knowledge of the man but of what he had seen and been told. There was a chasm between the two men.

‘Thor?’ he whispered, clasping his right arm. The name bubbling to the surface. Steve had said that name, earnest in the knowledge that Loki should comprehend the person behind it, but _he_ didn’t know who the man was. ‘Were you in the clips?’ he continued, probing his mind but only Steve and smoking cars emerged from his memories of watching those images. The members of the cult had only shown him snippets of his former self. They had been angry and vengeful, shaping his body around their wants but also hungry and desperate for power they said hummed within him.

He closed his eyes, quietening his buzzing mind. He centered on the name _Thor_. Nothing happened. Loki blinked his eyes open, irritation at his discovered amnesia heavy in his chest.

‘Thor!’ he growled into his lap. ‘Help me understand who I am! How are you tied to me?’

The safe house quaked in its foundations, Loki scrambled to stand as the mirror exploded against the tiles. The air was charged, Loki’s hair rising from his face. He fought his way from the en-suite, the house swaying beneath his feet. He could hear Steve shouting. The window to the bedroom was tall and huge, a screen to the swirling storm clouds rolling around the sky. Confusion painted his face.

‘The sun’ Loki exclaimed as the room grew eerily darker. He could feel his body shaking in a way that had nothing to do with the house. He flinched against the flash of lightning that illuminated the room. He stayed glued to his spot, too afraid to move to the window and draw the curtains. Steve was calling below him. ‘Where has the sun gone?’

The glass shook against the howling wind. An almighty rumble finally rung out for the lightning flash and the glass obliterated, the window frame a gaping hole in the side of the house. Loki’s screams joined Steve’s shouts. He crashed backwards into the bedroom door, his eyes wide at the body contorting itself to squeeze through the hole. His whole chest ached at the man striding into the room, his body trembling. 

‘Brother’ the man boomed, sweeping forwards with arms like trees. ‘You called for me. I thought you dead!’


End file.
